


Domesticated gods

by IndulgentDiscourse



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Cats, Fluff, Gen, There aren’t enough fics about Frumpkin doing cat things, cats doing cat things, they’re so stupid I want a million of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndulgentDiscourse/pseuds/IndulgentDiscourse
Summary: Frumpkin might technically be a fey creature created by magic, but he still displays many of the behaviors associated with non-magical cats.Basically, a collection of times that Frumpkin was a dumb cat, because there aren’t enough fics about that and that makes me sad.





	Domesticated gods

**Author's Note:**

> In ancient times, cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this. — Terry Pratchett

The fey were strange creatures, beings of mischief and lazy pleasures. Cats, Caleb reflected, were much the same way. For all that his beloved familiar was an extension of his magic, Frumpkin still had many of the same behaviors as his favored form, something that endeared him to Caleb and drove the other members of the Mighty Nein crazy.

* * *

 

Nott sat at the table in the corner of the tavern room. It was rare for her to get any time alone without Caleb or any other member of the party, so she decided to enjoy it, taking her time to take stock of her growing collection.

One by one, she lined her objects up along the table. Buttons, stolen from grumpy people on the street, rings and other jewelry taken from various jobs, a little bejeweled statue swiped from a street vendor who wasn’t looking her way. Nott gazed fondly upon the objects so near and dear to her, only distracted for a moment by a “mrrp” from Frumpkin, curled up on the bed. She returned her attention to her collection, not noticing when the cat made his way over to her, winding around the legs of the chair, jumping up on the table, purring.

A sudden realization that she had more items to add to the pile dawned on her, and she skittered across the room to dig around in her bag.

On the table, Frumpkin sat, tail twitching, head tilting at the strange collection of objects. Nott emerged from her bag, holding a small handful of more buttons. She watched in dawning horror as the cat stretched out a paw, reaching for a shiny necklace.

“Ah! No!” Before Nott could even take a step forward, Frumpkin batted the necklace off the table, clattering onto the floor. He reached out again, knocking the statue and a stack of three golden buttons to the ground. Nott rushed over, scooping the cat up around the middle, tossing him on the ground. Nott glared at him, her hands on her hips.

“Why must you do that?!” She demanded, irate. Frumpkin purred again, butting his head against the goblin’s legs, before shaking himself out and trotting to the closed door. He sat for a moment, before turning to face Nott, meowing pitifully. She rolled her eyes, but still opened the door. He darted off outside the door, tail held high, and Nott closed the door again, thinking that was he end of that, prepared to fix any damage done to her collection.

It wasn’t long before a scratching sound came from the door again. Nott ignored it, thinking it was maybe someone else in the tavern who came too close to the wall. However, it soon came again, along with a mew. Frumpkin was back. Knitting her brow, Nott stubbornly ignored it, knowing that if she answered the door, she would be drawn into the cat’s game of in-and-out. Outside the door came a loud, drawn-out meow. A door down the hall opened, and Nott heard the rumble of someone’s voice. Nott figured that she had better let Frumpkin inside before someone made a fuss about the screaming cat, so she waited until she heard the door close before opening her own. Outside in the hall, Frumpkin crouched, his paws all tucked under him. He looked up when the door swung open and purred, standing and stalking inwards. He made for the table still holding Nott’s collection, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

“Oh no you don’t,” she hissed, scooping him up and tossing him on the bed. 

* * *

Fjord had heard about how cats on a ship brought good luck. There were always plenty around the docks where he used to work, mangy strays hoping for a sympathetic fisherman or a warm ship to sneak aboard on, or a few well-cared for mousers that lived on ships and were doted on by entire crews.

Shame he was allergic to them, because they always loved him.

Such was the case with Caleb’s familiar. Don’t get Fjord wrong, he liked Frumpkin in concept. The familiar was a useful tool for scouting ahead or even an ally to come in clutch when shit went sideways up shit creek. The poor creature had a hell of a time, from exploding in the gnoll mines to being kicked by guards to being enveloped by gelatinous cubes, and Fjord was sympathetic to Frumpkin’s plights.

That still didn’t mean he wanted him around him.

Frumpkin had a few favorites in the group. Caleb, for obvious reasons. Nott was a close second, but Fjord suspected that was due to Caleb commanding him to keep an eye out for the little goblin. Fjord was tied for third with Molly. He had been told that cats liked people who didn’t show interest in them, because deep in their little brains, interest meant becoming prey to a larger creature. If someone didn’t show interest in a cat, then they were safer to be around.

Fjord did his best to ignore the cat, not out of any desire to bring him in closer, but because it was better for his health if he stayed away. Frumpkin, on the other hand, saw it the opposite way, and seemed to make it his personal goal to kill Fjord via anaphylactic shock.

Every day, Frumpkin wound himself around his ankles, crouched under his chair, and sat in his lap, much to his displeasure, all the while purring loud enough for the entire group to hear it. 

* * *

Caleb very much loved his familiar. Frumpkin had been there for him through thick and thin, through the best of times and the worst of times, and brought comfort to him like nobody else. The cat had an uncanny ability to be there whenever Caleb needed him, whether he was struggling to fight through a wave of memories, or he just needed a way to escape a sensory overload. No matter how many times he would claw at anyone else for touching him the wrong way, he would always let Caleb bury his face in his soft belly fur at the end of a long day. Caleb loved Frumpkin very, very much.

But there were times when he also was very temped to strangle his familiar.

Now was one such time.

It had taken Caleb a while to get his hands on the funds for magic quality paper and ink to add to his spell book, and it had taken him all day to properly understand and transcribe the arcane symbols, practicing over and over again to get it right. Just as Caleb way about to put the finishing touches on a perfect copy of the delicate sigil, an orange paw descended into the ink.

Caleb pulled his pen away from the paper, tiredly staring at the paw that had just ruined two hundred gold and a day’s worth of work. He looked up at Frumpkin, who stared right back, purring.

“I am rather busy,” he said, defeated. Frumpkin blinked slowly at him, and then sat down on Caleb’s spell book, still purring. 

* * *

The entire party was gathered around a table in the corner of The Leaky Tap, talking amongst themselves and eating dinner. They had recently come into some money and decided to order a great deal of food to celebrate a job well done. One by one, the dishes were brought up from the kitchen to the bar, where someone would go to grab the meal and bring it back to the group.

Wessik leaned over the bar and announced that the order of a stuffed chicken was ready, and Yasha excused herself, returning with a tray of food. She didn’t even make it back to the table before Frumpkin sauntered over and began to wind himself around her ankles. Pausing as to not trip and drop her dinner, Yasha looked down at the tabby.

“Can I help you?” She asked. Frumpkin blinked up at her and meowed. His eyes flicked to the tray she carried. “No, not for you,” she said, attempting to take a step forward. Once again, Frumpkin wound around her ankles, stopping Yasha in her tracks. He meowed again, this time raising himself up onto his hind legs, placing his front paws on her shin. Yasha tried to gently shake him off, but he meowed again, louder this time.

“No,” she tried, more firmly, but Frumpkin jumped up, his claws catching in the rough material of her clothes, climbing up her leg. On instinct, Yasha tried to shake him off her leg, lifting her tray to above her head as the stubborn cat kept climbing.

A snorting sound caught her attention, and out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Molly, doubled over and laughing at the panicked look in the barbarian’s eye as she caught to keep her food away from the cat. Frumpkin made it up to her chest before Molly tapped on the table in front of Caleb, catching his attention.

“You might want to have a look at what he’s doing to Yasha there,” he said, stifling a fit of giggles.

With a snap of Caleb’s fingers, the claws pricking Yasha’s skin vanished, and with another snap, he reappeared in Caleb’s lap. Yasha made her way to rejoin the group and eagerly began her dinner. Across the table from her, Frumpkin had climbed back up onto the table and sat in front of Caleb’s bowl of stew. Every once in a while, he reached a paw out, aiming directly for the bowl, but on autopilot, Caleb lifted a single finger and knocked it away, all while still reading his book.

After a while, Frumpkin gave up on Caleb’s food and made his way over to Beau, weaving elegantly around the cups and plates on the table. There, he stared at the monk for a moment before making a beeline for her cup, trying to stick his face right in. Beau caught him right at the last moment, startling him back with a sharp “Ah!”. Tail lashing, Frumpkin wandered back over to Caleb, where he sat in front of the wizard for a few silent minutes. Then, he started to meow, loudly and drawn out, piteously, for all to hear. When this garnered no reaction from Caleb at first, he started up again, louder this time.

“ _Weeeeeaaaaaagggggghhhhh_!”

Caleb finally lifted his head from the book, glaring at the screaming cat.

“You need to hush,” he said. “You don’t even need to eat and I already fed you earlier, and I know that Jester gave you food under the table.”

Frumpkin stared back. “ _Weeeeeaaaaaaaaaghhhhhhh_!” 

* * *

Tieflings tended to run hot. It was common knowledge to most people, and a pickup line that Molly had used plenty of times, mostly succeeding. Molly was aware that his temperature made him a desirable space heater, especially on colder or rainy nights.

He didn’t take into consideration that cats also liked him.

One morning, after crashing in Caleb and Nott’s room after a night of drinking and gambling, Molly came to choking on a mouthful of fluff. Coughing and gagging, he sat upright, spilling a startled Frumpkin from his face as he did. Spitting, Molly did his best to remove the excess cat fur from his mouth, collapsing back as soon as he was clear of fur. A weight settled on his chest, and he peered up at Frumpkin, who was faintly illuminated by the predawn light filtering in through the window. Frumpkin stood on his chest, paws uncomfortably positioned over his pecs. Slowly, the cat put more weight down. Molly winced.

“You’re standing on my tits, dear,” he explained to the cat. Frumpkin didn’t seem to care, settling into a crouch, paws tucked under him, purring. Soon, the furry warmth and vibrations soothed Molly back off to sleep.

A while later, he came to, awakened by a jingling sound and the sensation of movement by his horns. Cautiously, he opened an eye, only to see soft orange underbelly. At some point in the night, Frumpkin had made his way up to sleep on his face again, his tail draped over Molly’s horns, twitching in his sleep. Molly sighed. He had a sleeping animal on him, he wasn’t allowed to move, no matter how much his back ached from sleeping on the hard wood floors. 

* * *

Domestication of cats has made them more active during the day, but there were times when their true nocturnal behaviors came to light.

Jester received a vivid reminder one night. It was dark and cold, with Caleb, Fjord, and Nott called away for business. A storm a day or two ago had called Yasha away, leaving Beau, Molly, and Jester behind at the tavern. Caleb had decided to leave Frumpkin behind at the tavern in case need arose for them to be fetched back, and the cat spent his time curled in front of the fire and ignoring Jester’s kissy noises, outstretched hand, and “ _Here, kitty-kitty-kitties_ ”.

That night, wind rattled the tavern, stirring Jester from an uneasy sleep. Feeling a bit on edge, she decided to go down to the bar and wait for the return of her friends. She slipped out of the room she shared with Beau with ease, grabbing Tusk Love from her pack as she went. Padding carefully down the stairs, she froze in her tracks as glowing eyes stared at her from the rafters. Jester carefully held in a gasp as her eyes adjusted to the dim light of the main room of the tavern and eventually made out the shape of Frumpkin crouched in a ball up in the rafters. She made a grabby hand motion towards the cat, but he ignored her. Pouting, Jester made her way towards the dim embers in the fireplace. Carefully, she stoked the coals until the fire sprouted back to life and she had enough light to read by. Eagerly, she returned to her third read through. She was just getting to the part where tensions built and Oskar confessed his attraction to Guinevere, and then— a thud drew Jester’s attention away from her book. She looked up to see Frumpkin on the ground, his tail waving gently as he walked around the room. He proceeded to jump up on a table and sit, at first cleaning a paw, and then staring at absolutely nothing across the room into the darkness.

Jester watched him. Her mind began to race, recounting every scary story that the Traveller ever told her, thinking of every possibly bogeyman that lurked in the dark. She read that animals could see ghosts. There was a skeleton in the cellar below the tavern, maybe there was a ghost in the bar. Maybe it was coming to take her soul away, and then get Beau, and then Molly, and because they would be dead and gone there would be nobody left to warn Caleb and Nott and Fjord, and then the ghost would get them, and nobody would be left to warn Yasha, and it would get her too!

Just as her nerves began to get the best of her, Jester startled as Frumpkin leapt up and off the table, streaking across the room before turning hard, claws scrabbling on the hard floors, leaping up across tables, racing past Jester, and completing his frantic circuit around the room. He kept this up for a few laps, until he stopped dead in his tracks, once again staring dead on at absolutely nothing.

Once again, Jester’s mind began to get the better of her, but before her spiral could build, he sat back on his haunches and stretched one leg up high in the air, licking at his balls. Jester giggled, and he looked up, his tongue still halfway out. Jester laughed more, and returned to her reading. 

* * *

It had been a long day for Caleb. Nott didn’t get all the traps, so he fell a good ten feet down into a net in a dungeon, and then he had to wait for everyone to rescue him, and he ran out of spells midway through the fight with a wyrm, spending the rest of the fight huddling behind a pillar, hoping that nothing came his way. After all that, they still had to talk with The Gentleman and his crew, leaving Caleb even more drained than the fighting.

All in all, Caleb just wanted to fall asleep in a bed, and not wake up for a day. Sadly, he couldn’t even do that.

He blearily stumbled into his room at the tavern. Frumpkin lay curled up on his bed, but upon Caleb’s loud entry, he uncurled himself, making all the standard cat activation noises. Caleb approached the bed, prompting Frumpkin to stretch himself out, right in the middle of the mattress.

“You will have to move,” he murmured, stroking the orange fur.

“ _Mrrp_ ,” Frumpkin replied, blinking slowly. Caleb scooped Frumpkin up, cradling him in one hand as he pulled the sheets back. Once he was settled, he placed Frumpkin on his chest. His beloved familiar purred loudly as Caleb ran a gentle hand over his back.

“You are lucky I love you so much,” he yawned, and settled into a peaceful sleep, Frumpkin curled on his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!! I love to get kudos, and comments make my entire day!


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